


fingers crossed (from start to finish)

by mad_half_hour



Series: Aftermath Verse [1]
Category: Journey into Mystery, Thor (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: And Substitute It With My Own, Gen, I Reject Kieron Gillen's Reality, Kid Loki, Spoilers, With The Help Of Tommy Shepherd, aka Post-JIM 645 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_half_hour/pseuds/mad_half_hour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In the end Loki could not bring himself to ask Brün anything. He knew what false hope felt like.</i> </p><p> </p><p>Tommy Shepherd once had a conversation with a god over milkshakes in a diner in Broxton, Oklahoma. Nothing afterward changes. Then everything does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fingers crossed (from start to finish)

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I've decided to take Kieron Gillen's suggestion to heart: I'm writing my own happy ending.
> 
> This chapter takes place in Journey into Mystery #645, between Loki's (in this) first conversation with Hela and his final conversation with Thor, and sometime during Billy's depression following the events of The Children's Crusade. Everything else will be set Post-JIM #645 and post-TCC, somewhere in the middle of what would be the next Young Avengers volume.

If not for the whole inextinguishable-flames thing, Tommy probably would have never returned to a little town like Broxton. Hell, he probably would have never stepped back into the entire state of Oklahoma. Other than grow potatoes what did the state really _do_? No offense to people who enjoy small town farmer lives or made potato chips for a living, but Tommy enjoys living as fast-paced as possible. Towns with old-school diners where the lady at the counter was more likely to talk to you about your day then ring you up and hoe-downs instead of night clubs isn’t his style.

But somehow the town of Broxton had gotten lit up and couldn’t be put out (at the time nothing had been confirmed yet but most fingers were pointed firmly heavenward)—first a church and then the surrounding areas, until a sizeable chunk of the town had been engulfed in a sea of ever-burning fire.  When it became clear water didn’t curb the flames’ voracity in the slightest the firefighters were pulled out and heroes were called in to take their place. It wasn’t long before people began to discover the flames were impervious to basically _everything_ , natural, magical, metahuman or otherwise, and priorities had to be rearranged. If you weren’t containing the flames you were offering aid to Broxton’s citizens.

As much as he’d tried taking Teddy’s suggestion to slow down for a while, Tommy had found life off the fast-lane as predictably hellish as he’d imagined it would be.  When (what remained of) the Young Avengers had been asked to support the cause Tommy had jumped at the chance. It’d been months since he’d donned his uniform, and even small towns like Broxton were better than life around his mopey sorta-twin Billy currently was. He needed elbow room, and no matter how big the Kaplans’ apartment was for New York City, seven people were a far cry from ‘cozy’. (To be fair, the fire-thing really _did_ help though. Not to mention the giant robot guys—seriously, how could he resist something like that?)

Even after the fires had finally died out and everyone who assumed it was All-Asgardia’s-Fault gave themselves a pat on the back there was still plenty to do. A large part of the town is a smoldering wreck dotted with unstable structures to be taken down safely before they can collapse, the noxious air needs to be cleaned of smoke and ash, and the entirety of Broxton needs to be swept for survivors.

You’d think searching for people in wreckage would be no problem for someone with super speed. In and out, bing bang boom and done, right? And it is _easy_ enough, Tommy guesses. There’s just a lot of it to check. And searching thoroughly takes more time.

It would also else help if the streets weren’t littered with giant hunks of concrete, bricks and other random shit like _kidswhoshouldwatchwherethey’restanding, don’ttheyknowthetownwasjustOnFire_ —

“Jeeesus kid—” Tommy skids to a stop in front of the guy before he can run him over. “Don’t you know to be more careful? The town’s a wreck. You shouldn’t be wandering around.” Though now that Tommy looks at him he seems kind of emotionally trampled and ready to cry so maybe he shouldn’t be so harsh with skinny kids whose homes are probably ash by now. Or something. He didn’t exactly have the best parental role models to base his children skills off of. “Look, you can’t be here right now. The whole town got evacuated. I’ll take you to one of the secured areas and someone can try to help you find your parents.”

“I don’t need—” The kid cuts himself off abruptly, face contorting into a pale grimace before smoothing itself out. The change was fast enough that if someone other than Tommy had seen it, it probably would have gone unnoticed. “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t need your assistance. I shall get home on my own.”

“Really now?” Tommy says skeptically, glancing around exaggeratedly. “Well okay, let me just find you a clear path and you’re free to go. Yeah, no way kid.”

“I’m not a _child_ ,” he insists, crossing his arms and staring Tommy down firmly. He has to give it to him—the kid definitely put on his Big Boy pants this morning. Or…are those tights? And what’s up with the minidress? Who the hell picked out his clothes for him? “If I were to guess I would be between thirteen to fourteen years old by Midgardian standards. And my way is perfectly clear, if somewhat smoky.”

Green eyes glance up at the sky pointedly and _oh_. Oh.               

“Waitaminute,” Tommy rushes out, because yeah, duh, suddenly the tights and tunic and freakin’ winged circlet make a lot more sense. Weirdo Norse kind-of-gods and their bad fashion sense. “So you’re from Asgard?”

“Technically it is now Asgardia, but yes.”                                                                                                     

“So you’re from Asgardia, a giant floating city.” The kid nods, arms still crossed over the golden circle on his tunic with the odd stylized ‘V’ etched in its center. “The one up there, in the sky?” Another nod. “Sooo you need to go _up_ to get home then?”

The kid rolls his vividly green eyes, every bit the mini-teen he claims to be. “Yes,” he says, voice generously laden with false sincerity. “Typically when someone needs to get somewhere in the sky they must go up to do so.”

“Gee, thanks for the lesson kid.” Tommy resists the urge to roll his own eyes in return because, yeah, he’s taller and his goggles are tinted so it’d be harder to see but he’s supposed to be the mature one here.  This probably means he shouldn’t be arguing with an Asgardian child in the middle of a ruined Broxton street in the first place but hey, he never claimed he was perfect. Improvement happens in baby steps and all that.

“My name is Loki, not ‘kid’” the kid says. Loki says. Loki.

Tommy’s eyes flicker over the little god with more than just a cursory glance. He sees the iconic green, black and gold color scheme with the cowl, the way the ‘V’ on his chest and circlet actually sort of looks like horns… “You mean _Loki_ Loki? As in Thor’s psychotic evil brother Loki? ThesupervillianLoki?”

The kid…Loki grimaces again, hands moving to grip his arms more firmly. “Yes, that Loki. Though I assure you, I’ve moved past that ‘psychotic evil’ phase. Rebirth really cleanses the soul.”

Tommy snorts. “Oh yeah, just like last time, right? What did you do after you gained people’s trust again? Made Asgard fall to Earth?” That was the first time Tommy had come to Broxton. He’d pushed himself so hard looking for survivors, past every limitation he had and every breath in his body, he’d actually strained the muscles in his legs.  Tommy hadn’t known he could even do that to himself until that day.

“That _wasn’t me_ ,” Loki denies furiously, eyes two bright slits under a dark scowl. “I’m not _that_ Loki. I won’t ever…” He falters, and when he swallows it is like he swallows all of his anger down too but leaves himself somehow emptier for it. “That wasn’t me,” he repeats quietly.

Part of Tommy wants to argue because he’s standing in front of the God of _Lies_ right now, and even shrunk and looking more like a kiddie Loki cosplayer than the man who had been the original motivation behind uniting some of the world’s most powerful people, he should not be trusted. Only an idiot would actually _trust_ someone who earned a moniker like that. But the rest of him sees a boy whose eyes are still bloodshot from tears, whose cheeks are chaffed from a quick scrub to hide the evidence, a boy trying his best to keep himself composed in the face of pain.

Dammit. This is why he needs to be with someone more responsible.

“Name’sSpeed. Or, uh, Tommy. So, you need to get to Asgardia?” Tommy asks, changing the subject with as much abrupt speed and reckless sensibility as everything else he does.

“Yes,” Loki affirms, voice once more pitched cheerful and bright. Tommy likes to think he can detect a note of gratitude somewhere in there, but he’s probably just flattering himself. Whatever he’s hearing, Tommy lets the kid keep his falsities. “As we’ve previously established, my home lies in Asgardia and to get there I must go up.”

“Well, as awesome as my power range is, flight is not on my list. If you want I can give you a quick lift over to someone who can fly though.”

“A quick lift?” Loki asks curiously.

“Yeah, you know, I carry you and run.” Tommy answers. “It’d be a lot faster than you walking all the way back by yourself, and I actually know my way around this mess. Besides, I hear kids love piggy back rides.”

Loki shoots him a quick glare, but doesn’t rise to the bait. “I understand what you mean by that but I’m sure I can find my own way back.”

“So you already have a ride?”

“No.”

“I may not be an ultra-nerd like my…like Wiccan, but I’m pretty sure Loki’d never flown when I saw him on the news.”

“That would be correct. Flight is not one of my abilities.”

Tommy’s brows furrow. “Then how do you plan to get back up, exactly? Because walking isn’t actually an option.”

“I’m sure my brother will come looking for me before too long.” Loki heaves himself onto the kneeling wreckage of what was probably once a fast-food restaurant. Tommy can make out what looks like tacky, bright plastic seats and netting for a play place amongst the rubble. Sighing, Loki shrugs. “I’m afraid I hadn’t been thinking very clearly when I came down here. But no worries,” he assures with a smile, “I will be fine, and I do not wish to impose.”

“I can run plenty fast enough,” Tommy insists, because he’s stupidly stubborn and doesn’t know to take a good out when he’s given one. “It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Oh? I had figured you were here for a reason.”

There isn’t anything outwardly hostile or cruel in Loki’s tone. It’s just as polished as almost everything else he’s said. But Tommy’s played the hero gig long enough to hear a subtle jab when one is being dealt, and he backs off, suddenly guilty. Yeah, the area he’d been sent out to cover hadn’t been hit as badly as others, and sure, he’s already swept it once, but…

“You’reright,” Tommy replies quickly, readjusting his goggles to fit more firmly. “Ishouldgo.Bye!”

Only a few feet (and barely a second) later he hears a yelped out “Wait!” and stops, pulling his goggles up to rest on his hair.

“Yeah?”

“Wait,” Loki says again, jumping off of his perch and running over to stand before Tommy. There is a resolve in the squaring of his shoulders and the set of his eyes that had not been there before. “I apologize. I had intentionally attempted to make you feel guilty so you would leave, but it was foolish of me. If you don’t mind I would greatly appreciate your company.”

“You’re apologizing?” There go his eyebrows again.  “That’s nice, I guess, but even if you were doing it to be shitty you were actually pretty right. I don’t have the time to hang out right now.” Heroes are supposed to be responsible. Even if running around desperately looking for signs of life makes his anxiety climb up his throat with harsh claws and the pressure sits in his stomach like a stone. Being a hero doesn’t mean doing the right thing because it makes you feel good. You do it because you can, and if not you, who else will?  

“Please.” The kid doesn’t even act the pleading fool, pretends nothing. He only meets his eyes and holds the gaze. “I would like to talk to you. Perhaps you can think of it as a break?”

“Talk to me about what?” Tommy asks, pushing his anxiousness down to where it belongs far, far away from his consciousness.  He reminds himself that he’s already searched this area once, that it wasn’t a high-priority area to begin with. Something about the combination of the weight of Loki’s voice and eyes holds his attention.

“Anything.” As if sensing he’s won, Loki drops whatever presence he’d donned like it was a coat (or maybe a cloak—that seems more Asgardian) and grins, pleased. “Everything, if we have time.”

“Well, I can talk pretty fast when I want to,” Tommy concedes. “I guess I can apply that to listening for once. Maybe. Why do you even want to talk to me?”  He leans down in silent invitation for the piggy back ride he’d jokingly promised earlier; he figures Loki could use something childish and dumb to brighten his day. His face suggests it had sucked royally.  “I’m not exactly known for good conversation.”

“Why not?” Loki responds. “I have time yet until I’d planned to meet my brother, and my social circle is abysmally small.” Loki hops on, wrapping his arms around his neck and locking his knees above his hips with surprising strength. His weight also brings Tommy’s knees close to buckling, unprepared for the heaviness. “Jesus, what the hell do they _feed_ you up there?”

“Fantastic,” Loki says, ignoring the jab at his weight entirely. “Now, there’s a diner that is around here if it was not burned down that makes the best milkshakes, so let’s go.”

“You do know that even if it _is_ still standing it’ll be closed right?” Tommy asks, adjusting his grip on Loki’s legs. “Maybe you missed it, but there was a pretty huge fire here earlier, kind of inextinguishable?”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t slip in and make them for ourselves. It’ll be fun. And missed it?” Loki scoffed. “I was in the middle of the action! I helped Thor put the World Tree out and foil Surtur’s plot in a brilliant show of cunning and ingenuity.”

“So now the conquering hero graces Earth with his presence and decides to commit breaking-and-entering for a milkshake? Doesn’t sound like the best plan. And I know stupid plans. I’ve got Wiccan for a brother.”

The sidewalk around the front of the diner was scorched, but other than that and a conveniently busted window that made it very easy to slip in the property was undamaged. They got into the kitchen and spent the next several minutes shoving what they thought might be the right amount of ice cream, ice and milk into a blender before they realized the power was out and Tommy had to shake it up by hand. Which was a pretty smart idea until they realized it left the shake liquidy but eh, a milkshake’s a milkshake and anything’s better than the taste of ash on your tongue, right?

Settled on barstools side by side, sipping their shitty not-shakes, Loki began to talk. He flitted from topic to topic, from his treatment on Asgardia and the desperate loneliness it made him feel to the anger that loneliness inspired and the fear he had for that anger, from his love of his brother, both complicated and simple, to how much he misses the dog he’d named after him without even knowing it. He mentions his favorite foods and drinks and tumblr blogs. He questions if he likes the color green so much of his own choosing or if it is destiny that all Lokis that have existed or will ever exist prefer it. An account of his ‘BFF’ makes him go tight lipped and briefly silent.

For one of the first times in his life Tommy finds he has the patience to just _listen_. Loki talks until his voice goes hoarse and he’s out of milkshake, and then Tommy nudges the rest of his own over so he can keep going. Sometimes he asks for clarification or a background story. Occasionally he offers his own thoughts, or chimes in with something similar that had happened to him, or his opinion. But mostly Tommy just listens, taking in whatever Loki is willing to give and the temporary peace the slow, companionable atmosphere grants him.

For an afternoon spent with the former God of Lies and Evil, it wasn’t too bad.

In the end Loki let Tommy run him over to get a lift back up to Asgardia by someone that hadn’t been called away from Broxton when other fires had started across the world. He requested Tommy ask Iron Man if he’d bring Loki back up for him, which, weird. But considering Tony’s face before he’d let his faceplate fall back into place maybe Loki had a reason to be tentative around Tony.

“Goodbye, Tommy.” Loki waves, smiling from his princess carry in Iron Man’s arms. Ha. “It was very nice meeting you.”

Despite himself Tommy cannot fight the grin that creeps onto his face as he waves Loki off. “Right back at’cha, Loki. See ya later.”  Because the people in their sorts of circles always seem to repeatedly come back into each other’s orbits once they’ve met.

“Yes,” Loki calls out from above. He’s already little more than a black speck set in a sky swirling shades of gray with ash. The distance makes his voice linger wistfully on every word. “Until next time.”

 

 


End file.
